


I Heard You Speak Through Written Words

by sherrllocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, death of a childhood pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrllocked/pseuds/sherrllocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock returned after The Fall, he didn't anticipate John giving him the cold shoulder like he did so he was slightly surprised when John returns to Baker Street out of the blue without an explanation.  Sherlock never bothers to ask for one either and things are going well until John brings up possibly celebrating Sherlock's birthday - something Sherlock had never done prior to the jump.</p>
<p>Sherlock refuses to talk about and John resigns to leaving but will a letter left on his pillow make him stay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Heard You Speak Through Written Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylastvow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylastvow/gifts).



When Sherlock had returned home to Baker Street at the end of October 2015, almost two and a half years after jumping from the roof of St Bart’s, he expected to find John.  Instead what he found was an empty flat, basically the same as they had left it that day minus some of John’s personal belongings – his favourite coffee mug, his clothing and his laptop.  Everything else had remained as it had been that day in June.  At first it had puzzled Sherlock, why would John leave his home?  Perhaps Mycroft had been right all along.  Sherlock had gone too far this time by not trusting John or confiding in him his plans on dealing with Moriarty.

Ultimately it didn’t matter.  As far as Sherlock had been concerned, he had been justified in his actions because after all, he was protecting John – and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade – but first and foremost John.  Most would wonder why, since Sherlock wasn’t the sentimental type, but he had come to find that John was his everything.  He just hadn’t realised it until that very day when he heard John’s voice crack and felt his hand shake as he searched fruitlessly for a pulse that had been masked not to be there all thanks to a little rubber ball.  Sherlock hadn’t expected the broken sobs that tore from John’s being.

As he lay there on the pavement trying not to move the guilt began to wash over him, he almost allowed it to make him spring up and take John’s face in his hands and make his eyes see that he was indeed ok and that this was just a sick game he had been playing, he knew he couldn’t and guilt racked him, for if he did, it would mean a bullet to the head for John and game over for Sherlock and that was unacceptable.  So in the end, he played ‘dead’ and the moments ticked by for what seemed like forever until Mycroft’s men placed him on a stretcher and rushed his body away from John and everything he cared about in this world.  John would now be safe until Sherlock could finish the mission.   
  
Now it was all over and in the course of the next two years that Sherlock had been gone, he had found out what it meant to love another person – how it could drain you, make you wish you were really dead at times, but in this case, it was the light at the end of the tunnel.  When he finished this mission, he could go home to John and resume their life together at Baker Street.  He just didn’t expect it to entail so much to get back to London.

Yes, John had been hurt.  Hurt to the core of his existence and the day Sherlock returned, he stood there thinking this was some sort of sick joke.  Sherlock had come to the clinic hoping there wouldn’t be a scene and there wasn’t one.  John had just looked at him astounded and said very little.  What he did say shook Sherlock badly, John told him in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, he was done with him forever and then John simply walked out of the clinic and back to his bedsit without another word.  He was amazed he hadn’t reached out to strangle or punch Sherlock, he couldn’t do that to Sarah, not in the place he worked, not if he expected to keep the job he so desperately needed.

Speaking of Sarah, he was extra thankful she hadn’t fired him for leaving without so much a word, but then she knew the effect this would have on John.  In fact, she was one of the few that had helped him through the tough times and kept him from doing something stupid by giving him a reason to go on – a job and a purpose – in the end she was a good friend and he was thankful for that even after their bungled beginnings, and that is why she understood the effect Sherlock could have on anyone.

She had texted him later that afternoon and told him he could take the rest of the week off to get things sorted, but ultimately he decided he didn’t need it.  He had surprised everyone by showing up early the next morning for his shift with a variety of pastries and going on like nothing had happened the previous day. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And it continued that way for the next five months, but as things were wont to do, eventually it did start to wear on John and he did find himself missing Sherlock.  John found himself sitting in the small café one dreary Wednesday midday in March.  It had been slow and Sarah told him to take the rest of the day to go home and rest up, he had looked like he needed it.  Truth was, he did – not that he would admit to it, but the last five months had been a bit of mind fuck.  Also there was the small fact that where he lived now, a small bedsit (still) was not the home he desired to retreat to even though he swore he was not going to give in that easily to one Sherlock Holmes.

As much as John tried to ignore Sherlock, Sherlock seemed to be ever present, even more so now than before.  He was always texting or calling.  Yes, calling. Or showing up at his front door unannounced or already sitting in his chair when he arrived home from his shift at the clinic.  John had ignored the texts, declined the calls, slammed the door on his face or thrown him out on said occasions, but the sad truth was, he wanted to go back to Baker Street.  He wanted to go back home.  Only it wasn’t that simple.  He wasn’t sure that he could forgive Sherlock or trust him again.  Even though the man had finally pulled through and did what John had asked many times – to stop being dead – things were more complicated than they had ever been.  In those two years Sherlock had been gone, John had realised something.  One undeniable truth.  He loved Sherlock Holmes.

He sighed and sipped his tea and stared at the untouched muffin that sat before him.  He hadn’t wanted it, but he thought he should eat something as he hadn’t eaten yet today.  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he never heard the bell over the door announce its newest customer which is why he was caught off guard when the man with the umbrella joined him at his table.

John glanced up when he heard the chair scrape across the floor.  He rolled his eyes, “Alright let’s have it.  Though I must admit, I expected you long before this.”

Mycroft laid a thick manila envelope on the table and crossed his hands over top of it, lacing his fingers together to keep from tapping them.  Very few people could get under his skin, and the good doctor was one of them.  He cleared his throat.  “I honestly didn’t expect you to hold out this long Dr. Watson, I’m impressed.”   He paused waiting for a response from John, when it became apparent there was none forthcoming, he spoke again.  “What I don’t understand is why.  This is the one thing you asked for repeatedly, don’t deny it.  Yet now you reject it.  It’s rather odd.  I can understand the anger, I had warned him that you would not take it well, but that is not why I am here.  It is not my place to speak for him or explain.  He’s been trying you know.  That’s what’s in all the texts you’ve deleted without so much as looking at and all the calls you reject.  He phones you John.  He NEVER phones anyone.  Over a thousand rejected phone calls.  And yet you do not change your number or allow him the chance to explain and I assure you whatever you think the reasons were, they are not.”

John looked at Mycroft in disbelief, he clenched his fist which was sitting in his lap.  He could feel the anger boiling right below the surface.  It was smart of Mycroft to corner him here in this café.  He took several grounding breathes before he spoke and when he did, his tone was clipped and words concise.

“Would have been a waste of money to change numbers, you would have just provided him with the new one.  There is nothing, NOTHING, he could say to justify any much less all of it.”

Mycroft regarded John for a moment, yes the anger and grief were still very much present, something he couldn’t see his way through yet, but there was also something else there muddling things, emotions that ran deeper.  Ahhh, it was clear now Mycroft saw.  Love.  He unlaced his fingers and ran his fingers along the envelope.  “I do think you are being hasty John.  You at least owe him this.  A chance to explain.”  He simply stated as he slid the envelope across the table.  “You may feel differently if you would hear what he has to say, or if you can’t listen, you could to read these, but do not ever let him know that you did, let him be the one to tell you.”

John’s short nails were now digging into his palm, to keep him from exploding. “I doubt it.  So just tell him that nothing has changed when you report back to him how this meeting went.  I don’t want to see him and I don’t want to talk to him.”  John now raised his hand from his lap and slid the envelope back towards Mycroft.

Mycroft shook his head, stood and left the envelope.  “You misunderstand John.  Sherlock did not send me.  He does not know that I am here; in fact, he would probably be furious if he knew that I was.  I am doing this for the both of you.  It’s time for the both of you to stop acting like children and face the fact that you both need to resolve this so you can both move on whether it be separately or together again.”  With his intention stated, he nodded his head to serve as a goodbye and turned and was gone just like that.

John sat and stared at the envelope.  He was tempted to throw it away, but there was a nagging now in the back of his mind.  A desire to know the reason now.  Before he hadn’t cared, he had been certain whatever Sherlock’s reason had been were self-serving. It was always about Sherlock and the work, no one or anything else.  That was always first.  John had never expected that to change but Sherlock had included him in every case, every one, until the game started with Moriarty, and then things had changed.  Sherlock started pushing John away, had become more interested in Moriarty and less interested in John.  And then came the call from Bart’s that day and he couldn’t save Sherlock, couldn’t stop him, but in the end it was all just a game – a magic trick.  A magic trick, oh.  That was something.  And though he dismissed it at the time, it was starting to take on a different meaning.

John reached out and pulled the envelope back towards him.  He couldn’t read this here.  He got a bag for his muffin and set off for his bedsit.  Apparently he had a full day of reading ahead of him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When John finally settled at the table to read the packet of letters, he sat there staring at it for a long time before he actually undid the clasp.  Whatever he had been expecting had completely left his mind when he saw the date of the first entry – June 15, 2011.  He’d been expecting the date to read October of last year but the day of the fall itself, had surprised him.  Mycroft must have blocked John’s number as a precaution.

It started with a simple text….

John.  I am so sorry for what you must be going through now.  I didn’t understand how it would effect you until I was lying there on the ground and heard your voice.  I wanted to tell you then but the process had already begun.  There was no turning back.  Your life was still in danger from Moriarty.  That was his price.  Your life or mine.  There was no choice in which to choice.  It was yours, it always had been.  You’ve always been so much more than me and always will.  I hope that when I am done securing your safety and return, you can understand and maybe even forgive me since you are a much better man than I can ever dare to dream to be.  I expect it to take no longer than two or three months, but know this John I am sorry and if I had truly understood, I would have found another way, I would have listened to Mycroft.  –SH

John laid the paper back to the top of the pile.  He needn’t read anymore, everything he needed to know had been stated in that first message.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That day, John had packed all his belongings and returned to his rightful home at Baker Street after burning the manila envelope and all its contents.

Sherlock of course had welcomed him with open arms, delighted at John’s sudden change of heart.  He never once asked why and John never offered and they started anew, albeit with some changes.  Gone was the Belstaff and John wondered but never asked, maybe he would speak to Mycroft when the time was right.  Also missing was were the cases.  They’d had some here and there, but usually at the behest of Mycroft and never any from the public because they were still hounding him, even after all this time.  He’d become a bit of a recluse and it worried John, but now that he was back, John figured they could work on that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Time passed quickly and soon enough it was the holidays.  And even though it had been a short time that John had been home at Baker Street, he wanted to celebrate it properly, with the people that truly mattered to them.  They didn’t decorate, because Sherlock had always detested it, but they did have a few people over Christmas Eve – Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft.  It wasn’t a big to do and John didn’t even have to threaten Sherlock to behave once.  Things had definitely changed, you’d have to be blind not to see it, but no one mentioned it.  Sure he still had his moments and could be a terror at crime scenes on the few cases they had worked as a personal favour to Lestrade, but there was now a softer version of Sherlock reserved for this room of people – those who had helped him or accepted him back without any pause after disappearing for two and a half years, oblivious, they had been part of the reason he’d left, to save their lives.

After they had said their farewells to everyone John had found Sherlock in the kitchen, humming while making their tea.  It was their own special blend and it had become a ritual for them both before they could turn in for the evening.  When John had returned to Baker Street, it hadn’t even been a full week when he woke to one of Sherlock’s horrific night terrors.  By the time John had made it down the steps and to Sherlock’s side, the man had already come out of it, but he was paler was usual and his pyjamas were stuck to his skin from the night sweats, but the worst, where the tears that streaked those magnificent cheekbones and even more heartbreaking was the way Sherlock had grabbed John and clung to him, sobbing that he was sorry for leaving him and causing him the pain he did.  At first John hadn’t understood, this had to be more than just guilt for leaving, and he soon realised that the answers were probably held in the file that he had burnt, but then as John put his arms around Sherlock and rubbed his back to soothe him, he quickly put it together.  Through the thin fabric, he could feel the raised and gnarled welts that spanned the length of Sherlock’s back.  This man had been extensively beaten and tortured and God only knew what else.  Sherlock froze as it became clear John had discovered the scars, but John never backed away.  John pulled him closer and hushed him, murmuring that he was there now and that everything was ok.  He never asked, it wasn’t important, all that mattered was that they were both where they belonged.  What John couldn’t wrap his head around though was why Sherlock was apologising to John for leaving when the man clearly suffered at great length to ensure John’s safety.  By the time he had hushed Sherlock enough for him to back to sleep though, he realised something, that the answer was staring him right in the face, it had always been staring him right in the face.  Sherlock Holmes loved him.  That was the only possible explanation.  And it didn’t frighten John or freak him out, no – it gave him hope for the first time in so long.  He just needed to approach it with care and thought and maybe just maybe someday they could move beyond what they were, but for now, this was a good start.

Neither of them spoke about it the next day or the other three times it occurred over the next week, but John realised, something needed to be done about it.  So instead of being blunt and telling Sherlock he should find something to help him sleep (something legal and non-habit forming), he decided to leave a pamphlet on soothing herbs on the kitchen table beside the microscope before he left for work one morning.  After that, John came home to a different herbal tea every evening and after about a week, Sherlock had developed the perfect mix that helped them both sleep and now this became their nightly ritual.  They would sit on the sofa and share a cuppa and talk about their day or anything that was on their mind.

Tonight’s topic was of course the wonderful evening they had spent with their friends and John had thanked him yet again.  Then he excused himself, setting his half empty cuppa on the coffee table.

“I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

Sherlock frowned, “John, I told you presents weren’t necessary.”

“Nonsense,” John had replied.  “You’re my best friend so you will indulge me.”  He got up and ran downstairs to get the package he had been having Mrs. Hudson hide for him just in case Sherlock decided to snoop.

When he returned however, he was surprised to see Sherlock sitting on the sofa with a beautifully wrapped gift in his lap as well.  He blushed when John looked at him and quirked and eyebrow, “Well, you didn’t think I would let you celebrate all alone do you?  I hope you like it.” He said quietly as he extended the package out for John to take.  Before John could take the gift though, he had to place his gift for Sherlock in Sherlock’s lap.  Sherlock looked down at it and couldn’t discern its contents by the weight or size of the box.

John smiled.  Good, I may still surprise him after all he thought to himself.  He rejoined Sherlock on the sofa and waited.

“You first,” Sherlock said.

Sherlock watched as John tore the paper off the box and pulled the lid off, revealing a gorgeous light blue cashmere jumper.  Much nicer than the plain woolen ones John usually wore.  John was speechless.

“It’s gorgeous Sherlock.”  Thank you.  But this is too nice to wear just any old time so I think I’ll save it for special occasions.”

Sherlock both smiled and crinkled his nose and tried not to let his displeasure show.  Special occasions meant date and Sherlock couldn’t bear the thought of that, not now.  The mention also made Sherlock realise that John hadn’t been on any dates since Sherlock’s return (and none while Sherlock had been ‘dead’ either according to Mycroft) and Sherlock had been perfectly happy with that.  In fact, it suited John much better.  He was happier than Sherlock had ever seen him before making it quite apparent that John Watson didn’t need a woman for that.  Sherlock was doing fine in that area all on his own.  The only thing John could possibly need a woman for was his sexual needs or desires and if John could just look past his own narrow mindedness when it came to the subject, he would realise Sherlock could fulfill that bit as well, thus entirely removing the need for a woman at all.

He'd apparently spent too much time on this thought because John politely cleared his throat and motioned towards the box that occupied Sherlock’s lap.

Sherlock looked back down at the box.  He honestly hadn’t been expecting anything because he had gotten everything he wanted that year for Christmas.  John was home this year where he belonged.  But John loved to celebrate every occasion, holidays and birthdays, so Sherlock allowed John the holidays, but not his birthday.  Never his birthday and he always made sure it was never a possibility for the subject to come up because he always disappeared the day before and after his birthday with the usual excuse of some top secret case Mycroft needed him to work alone due to sensitive government information.  What he really did though was to go to Sussex and hole up in the family’s cottage for three days alone and try to forget about his birthday and all the terrible memories that went along with it.  Before John could ask him what was wrong, he smiled and looked up at him.

“John, you really shouldn’t…” but John had shushed him.

“And neither did you but you did and I love it.  So go on then.”  John said excitedly.  He was practically vibrating out of his skin.

Sherlock looked down at the box.  It was oversized and had a good bit of heft to it and he had no idea what it could possibly be.  John had truly gone out of his way to make sure whatever was in this box had stayed secret and as he finished tearing the paper away and removed the lid, he understood why.  In the box was something he thought lost to him forever, his beloved Belstaff, repaired to almost mint condition.

Sherlock was absolutely speechless and John had the biggest smile on his face.

“But how? It was lost to me in Serbia…” and no more words came after that.  Serbia had been the end of the line.  Sherlock would have died there if it wouldn’t have been for Mycroft’s intervention.  Tears began to fall. “Mycroft said…”

John reached over and brushed the tears away from Sherlock’s eyes.  “Mycroft had found it when they pulled you out of Serbia but it was badly damaged and when he saw you were in no rush to get back to work, it fell to the side.  In fact, it wasn’t until I had gone to him to ask for his help in replacing it that he told me he actually had it, but it was in need of massive repairs.  I told him I would pay whatever necessary to have it fixed and he said he’d take care of it.  It took a while because of course he had to track down the original designer and I was beginning to worry that it wasn’t going to be finished in time, but late last week he phoned me and I had Mrs. Hudson hiding it for me ever since.  I wanted Christmas to be special this year since we didn’t have one last year thanks to my stubbornness.”  He paused, allowing both of them time to catch their breath.

“Come on, up you get.  I want to see it on.  It’s been killing me having to keep it a secret this long.”

John took the coat as Sherlock stood and rose with him.  He helped the taller man slip into the coat and the smile that lit up Sherlock’s face had been well worth the wait.

Sherlock couldn’t help the emotion he was overcome with, “It’s perfect John, absolutely perfect.” He squealed as he swept John off his feet into a hug and swung him around.  “This is the best Christmas present anyone’s ever given me.”

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and enjoyed the warmth of his arms and wished that this moment could last forever.  Something had changed between them and they could both feel it in the air, but neither of them commented on it, they were too afraid of ruining the moment and everything between them that had taken so long to recover.

In the end, they said their good nights and John scooped up his new jumper and disappeared upstairs to bed, while Sherlock hung his Belstaff on its rightful hook by the door and spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the downstairs and doing the few dishes left from the party before retiring to bed himself.  He had stayed up cleaning to distract himself but when he finally laid down in bed, everything he tried to keep himself from thinking finally came rushing in.  What exactly was happening between the two of them?  He tried not to think on it and willed his mind empty so he could sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

New Year’s Eve arrived quickly and John had suggested they go to Angelo’s for dinner.  Sherlock had been delighted by the idea and called to make the arrangements.  The day had gone by quickly and around five, they both retired to their rooms to get ready for their seven o’clock dinner date.

Sherlock had spent the longest time fretting over what to wear.  This was the first time they’d be dining out together since John’s return to Baker Street now that the media fascination surrounding them had finally died down.  Early on they had been out several times and it had been terrible, reporters asking intrusive questions about the Reichenbach Fall and Sherlock’s miraculous return from the grave and John’s willingness to forgive him, all while shoving cameras in their faces but what surprised Sherlock is that while John had been livid, he just took Sherlock by the hand and removed them from the situation before things got uglier.  They still hadn’t discussed anything regarding that time spent apart and Sherlock had thought for sure this was it, but when they had finally gotten back to Baker Street and Sherlock waited for John’s wrath to rain down on him, John pulled him into a hug and apologised for having to go through that.  They ordered take away from that point on.  It was that day that Sherlock had realised John really had forgiven him and that he wasn’t going to leave and he liked this new facet of their relationship that was forming.  They rarely fought anymore, when they did disagree, eventually at some point they would talk things out.  He finally chose the deep purple dress shirt (John’s favourite) and his best black suit and quietly waited in the sitting room for John to join him. 

John had known from the moment he suggested dinner what he was going to wear, the jumper Sherlock had gifted him for Christmas.  The very jumper he told Sherlock he would save for special occasions and this definitely qualified as that.  He was hoping tonight could be the moment that took their evolving relationship to the next level.  He wanted it all and he was certain Sherlock felt the same now.  He was no longer haunted by dreams where Sherlock rebuffed his advances or threw him out of the flat when he finally admitted his love for Sherlock.  John was sure things were different now and it was that text that Sherlock had sent him right after he jumped – the one that John was never meant to read - that allowed John to see how he really felt.  But This was important and could not be rushed because he needed to show Sherlock he was serious about this – about them, that this was not just a relationship born out of need or convenience.

The look of surprise on Sherlock’s face when John joined him told him he had guessed right.  He would remember that look always, the way Sherlock’s eyes went wide, how his mouth had fallen slightly agape in confusion, then realisation as he smiled as he stood completely at a loss for words.

John started, “You look very handsome tonight Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked his eyes several times, caught off guard by John’s words and for a moment he wasn’t sure he’d heard them correctly.  He was still trying to reconcile the fact that John was wearing the jumper that he had deemed for special occasions only.

“You’re wearing the jumper,” he finally managed to whisper in awe.

John rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his shoes, then smiled as he looked up meeting Sherlock’s wide eyes.  “I did tell you that I was reserving this for special events and well, I couldn’t think of anything more important than this.”

“This?  Really?” Sherlock asked shocked.

“I should certainly think so.” John said as he turned and put his coat on then retrieving Sherlock’s and holding it out for him to slip into.  John then did something unexpected, he took Sherlock’s hand, laced their fingers together and led them down the stairs and outside into the evening.

They walked to Angelo’s in silence, Sherlock seemingly in a spell – afraid to talk because he didn’t want to mess things up.  So they enjoyed the night air and the light snow that fell as they walked.  It didn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock or John, the smiles that other people gave them as they walked on.  Sherlock could get used to this he thought.

When they arrived, Angelo greeted them warmly at the door and showed the to their reserved table immediately.  He disappeared for the briefest of moments, returning with a basket of garlic bread and a bottle of his best wine.

“Boys! It has been far too long!  May I bring you your usual meals?”

Sherlock grinned, “That would be fine Angelo.”

“Lovely!” he said clapping his hands together bit as he turned, he noticed John frowning.

Sherlock noticed as well and apologised immediately.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to order for you.”

“It’s not that,” he said reaching across the table to take Sherlock’s hand to reassure him, “the usual is fine.  It’s just I was wondering…” He looked at Sherlock and smiled bashfully, “I was um, hoping, maybe we could get a candle?”

John released the breath he’d been holding and Sherlock’s breath had hitched.  He was surprised and John beamed.  He loved this, being able to make Sherlock smile like this and take his breath away all in the same moment.

“Yes, absolutely!  Right away!  How silly of me to forget.  Please forgive me.” Angelo beamed, winking at John and realising what was happening now.  This was actually a real date, no more assumptions, no more trying to push the two together towards the inevitable that everyone else had saw from the beginning, the boys were finally taking that step on their own.  Angelo turned to Sherlock, patting his shoulder, delighted in this new development and determined to make this a memorable night for the boys.

He returned quickly with the candle and the rest of the dinner went beautifully, until dessert.  They had taken their time, spent hours talking about everything, things they’d never discussed before, well John had done most of the talking, but it didn’t matter, it was perfect.  There was just one thing that John had wanted to ask, he’d been waiting for the perfect moment and it seemed that it was after Angelo had delivered the tiramisu and disappeared.  The restaurant had thinned, as most people had left to go to New Year’s Eve parties and the such and it was just John and Sherlock and one other couple left who had begun to get ready to depart.  Now seemed like the perfect time.

“Look, I know this is sudden and all, but I think we’re finally both on the same page as far as where we would like things to proceed from here.”  John reached across the table again and grasped Sherlock’s hands in his, rubbing circles on the back of his palms.  “It’s New Year’s and I thought tonight we might start it new together, as a couple, see where things go.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, taking a moment to respond.  “I’d like that very much John.”

“Good.  So listen, I was thinking that since your birthday is only a few days from now we could…”

Before John could even finish his thought, Sherlock’s face had gone completely blank, the mask back up.  The mask that had John hadn’t seen since he returned to Baker Street all those months ago.  The entire evening had faded, like it hadn’t even taken place.  Sherlock had withdrawn his hands from John’s, stood, put his coat on and left without a single word, leaving John confused, hurt and stunned.

Angelo returned and noticed the untouched dessert as well as a missing Sherlock and a distraught John.

“Is everything ok John?”

John pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up at Angelo.  “Yea… fine,” he lied.  “Emergency.  Could you pack this up please and bring me the bill?”

“Certainly, but John, you know there is never a charge for you or Sherlock.  Are you sure everything is ok?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”  John replied sorrowfully, “Same as it’s always been unfortunately.” He finished quietly more to himself than to Angelo. 

He didn’t know why he’d foolishly thought that there could be something more between him and Sherlock.  Obviously there would always be something that Sherlock would keep from John and John had had his fair share of secrets.  Secrets had nearly destroyed him after all.”

He didn’t wait for Angelo to return with the dessert, instead he dropped a handful bills on the table that more than covered the bill and left a generous tip.  It wasn’t right that Angelo allowed them use of the table so long and turned away paying customers so John made it right.

He then slipped out of the restaurant and wondered aimlessly.  He didn’t feel like going back to Baker Street, he didn’t really want to see Sherlock or be reminded of how lonely and foolish he was if Sherlock wasn’t there so he just walked.  He had no one to call either as it was New Year’s Eve and everyone was most likely involved in their own festivities and John didn’t want to intrude.  So he kept walking.  When he finally got too cold he decided it was time to call it a night and he took a cab back to Baker Street.  It had been over three hours and the new year had come and gone already and he was alone yet again.  Maybe this is how it was always destined to be for him.

When he entered Baker Street, he never bothered to see if Sherlock was in.  He went straight up to his room and was startled to find a thick envelope addressed to him waiting on his pillow.  He picked it up and for a moment he had the strongest urge to march straight down the stairs and throw it at Sherlock if he was even there, he deserved an answer face to face, not one written down. As he turned and walked to his door and took hold of the door handle, John realised something.

This was Sherlock reaching out to him, the only way he knew how.  It was like all those texts he’d sent the years he was away.  The ones John had burnt without reading.  And Mycroft’s words echoed in his ear, ‘you owe him this, to hear his explanation, it’s not what you think, it never is, not with Sherlock.’

Sherlock was using this method, because it was the only way he knew how to reach John, through words.  He wrote it all down and waited for John to read it on his own.  John turned and walked back to his bed and settled on it.  He flipped the envelope over and slid his finger under the seal and pulled out the beautifully scripted pages and began to read.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My John,

I know you must be sorely disappointed in my earlier actions and spent a good amount of time debating whether to even open this and read it for an explanation and since it seems that you are allowing me the chance to explain, I want to say I am deeply sorry but thank you for at least reading this.  I assume you are most likely ready to leave Baker Street for good, this being a wakeup call and I cannot say that I blame you in the least bit. 

This is only one of many reasons that any intimate relationship between us would ultimately fail.  This is something that I definitely have no experience in and I don’t think even you have enough patience for me to even learn the basics and even then that would not be enough because you deserve so much more than that.  I am sorry for leading you to believe that it could work, I underestimated how little I truly know and at dinner, right before dessert I realised that I could never be what you need me to be. 

You and I together had been something I had always dreamed of happening and it felt good.  Ever since Christmas, I felt things change, if I am honest, it was before that though I didn’t know that’s what was happening at the time.  It felt right and it felt natural and then you got personal and I was reminded by past events why this could never work and why you are so much better off without me.  I should have never returned or more importantly, I should have respected your first wishes of leaving you alone forever, than to put you in this position where I have once again hurt you.

Let me make this perfectly clear.  This is not on you.  You did nothing wrong.  This is all me and all of my short sightedness and disregard for other people’s feelings. 

John, I ultimately destroy everything I touch and you of all people should know that quite well.  Look at what I did when I thought I was protecting you from Moriarty.  We’ve never addressed it and we should have, but you came back and never demanded any answer or that we talk of it and I was afraid to ask even though I knew I should.  I was just so happy to have you back that I didn’t care why or what repercussions could come later from it.  I promised myself from that point on that I would be a better man and made a vow to myself to strive to be the man you always said I could be.  I tried.  I really did and things were wonderful, more than I could have ever hoped for or imagined they could be and then tonight, reality reared its ugly head reminding me it was all just a pipe dream, something that I could never have.  Happiness is a right reserved for other people, not for an obnoxious, arrogant, freak such as myself.

You see John, there have been two events in my life that have defined me and that I will never forgive myself for.  You know the second one as you were a part of it and I still don’t understand why or how you chose to forgive me for it because I have yet to forgive myself.  I have my suspicions that Mycroft may have had a hand in it, it seems he always does in instances such as these, claiming that he only does so because he cares and knows I am incapable of making the right decision.  It seems to be the general consensus.  But I do know this, the fact that you can see your way to forgive me when I cannot, makes you the better man John Watson, and makes me unable to live up to the vow of becoming a man of such stature.

The first event if you can believe started as a tragic event turned happy.  It was my seventh birthday.  As you can imagine (well maybe you don’t), I didn’t have what one would call a normal childhood.  I was way ahead of my peers, and that fact being widely known at my school meant I was shunned by not only the students but the teachers as well.  It also probably had something to do with my perceptiveness (yes even at that age) and the inability to keep my mouth shut.  So It should come as no surprise that I had no friends.  Mummy simply thought I was having a rough time transitioning so she had decided to hold a huge celebration for my birthday that year and invited all my classmates assuring me that they would come.  All that needed to happen was that they needed to see how I was outside of school.  It was to her great horror when not a single family showed and she called every single family and let them know exactly what she thought of them. I had begged her not to, that it would only make things worse for me in the end, but she had just ignored my protests as she always did and went about making the calls.

Of course this had all happened during Christmas break and when we returned to school that Monday, all hell had broken loose and the children were relentless with their teasing and cruel words.  What made it even worse, is the day we returned to was the day of my actual birthday so it was like reliving it all over again.  That morning I had tried to play sick, tried to get out of returning to school but Mummy insisted I go, sighting it was unsuitable behavior for a Holmes’ boy and that I should strive to be more like Mycroft, he’d never had any of these problems growing up.  Well of course he hadn’t.  For all intents and purposes Mycroft had been born an adult and all the children had feared him, even the teachers had been frightened of him.  Alas, one does not argue with Mummy so I begrudgingly got dressed and attended school on that dismal day and it was every bit as bad as I had expected and more. 

Normally, I could block out their childish behavior, for that’s all it was, that’s all they were – selfish, self-centered bullies.  In the end they had been relentless and tireless in their shenanigans and by lunch there had been a fight and Mummy had been called into the school.  Instead of sending me back after she’d heard what the headmaster had to say, she dismissed his frivolous accusations how I had entirely brought this upon myself and she demanded that the other boys who had started the fights be punished or she would use all her influence to make his tenure as headmaster end swiftly and remembered for what it was, a useless era in the school’s flawless history.  She also made it very clear that he impressed upon the rest of students and staff that if anything like this ever occurred again, the would rue the day they messed with the Holmes family.  All he did was nod and he didn’t even object when she pulled me from school the rest of the day.

I of course expected that I would be punished severely once we reached home, instead of home though, she instructed the driver to take us into the country to one of her friend’s estates.  I had questioned her as to why we were going but she declined to answer, the only thing she would tell me is that it was a surprise.  I also expected the ride to be on filled with complete silence, allowing me time to reflect upon my behavior over the past few days but she surprised me yet again.

She apologised for having the party against my wishes, that she should have listened to me.  She hadn’t realised how cruel other children actually were, not when she had been blessed with two brilliant children herself.  She went on to explain that she thought by inviting the children into our home for a celebration, it would help them see how we actually were, she didn’t realise that these were not the type of people you could reason with.  She was only trying to help because she thought I was lonely which is why we were now headed to her friend’s estate.  I remember groaning because I thought this meant she was going to try and get me to socialise with other children but was shocked to see that when we arrived at the estate, there was a large kennel on the grounds. Her friend was a well-known dog breeder and apparently there were several litters that had puppies available.  When we walked into the kennel she leaned down and told me to go choose a puppy as my birthday present, that I had needed a friend and this seemed the most logical solution because she knew I adored the neighbour’s dog. 

I walked the entirety of the kennel, there were so many different breeds, in the end, there was one that caught my eye in the very last cage I came upon.  She was an older dog; the most beautiful dog I had ever seen.  She was a beautiful Irish Setter and this was to be her last litter.  It only had three pups to it and of those three, two had been sold.  I was mesmerised by the one that was left, he was just a little thing clearly left behind and neglected as the other two were thriving but I identified with him and told Mummy this was the one I wanted.  Mummy’s friend had tried to talk me out of it and she looked at him disapprovingly, ‘If this is the puppy my son wants, then this is the one he shall have,’ she told him.  ‘Sherlock knows exactly what this pup needs.  Love.  Love that he certainly isn’t getting here.’  The man agreed with her and gave us everything we would need and wished us well.

That was the day I brought Redbeard home. What should have been the worst birthday ever had turned into the best birthday ever.  It took us a few days for us to find our footing, but once we did, we were inseparable.  He thrived and we became best friends, we did everything together.  He was there for everything over the next ten years, my triumphs, to listen to me when I was sad, to go on adventures when I was bored, there was nothing we didn’t do together.

Ten wonderful years.  So it should not have been surprised when I woke on the morning of my seventeenth birthday to find him missing.  I searched the house top to bottom and the entire snow covered grounds and could not find him.

Mycroft had been home that holiday, first time in several years and had found me frantic upon his return from a trip into town.  He’d taken me into the house and set me down by the fire to warm me, I had been running around outside for quite some time inadequately dressed.  He then told me he needed to talk to me about Redbeard and I knew he was gone forever.  He needn’t say the words, I knew, but he went on to tell me the story anyway.

He’d been woken very early by our housekeeper, she was in tears, had trouble recounting the story.  She had been to the market and been bringing in the bags when Redbeard slipped outside and took off after a squirrel.  As many times as she called him, he just wouldn’t return, he loved squirrels and he loved the snow.  The grounds keeper was out, clearing the snow with a small plow from the driveway and never saw Redbeard run in front of him until it was too late.

She had gone to Mycroft because she knew the state I’d be in if she’d gotten me, it hadn’t looked all that bad, just superficial injuries maybe a broken bone and she was hoping Mycroft could have him fixed up and returned before I woke.

Mycroft had scooped the wounded dog up in his arms and packed him into the back of the car and took him to the vet in town.  While his injuries weren’t all that dire, the blood work the vet had insisted running showed something unexpected and dire.  Redbeard was suffering from advance stages of canine cancer, and while he may not have been showing symptoms prior to this, the accident would only cause symptoms to manifest now at an alarming rate.  The vet had explained to Mycroft he had two options, take him home and let him die slowly or put him to sleep before it got too bad.  Mycroft opted for the kinder of the two and had Redbeard put to sleep.  He made the decision he knew I would be unable to.

Of course when he told me, I was livid, I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.  To this day I still hate him for it even though I know he was trying to save me from making a painful decision.  He of course had offered buy me another dog, but Redbeard was irreplaceable and I never wanted to go through any of that again, ever.

That was the day that I decided being alone protected me better than anything else ever could.

And then years later, you came along and you were so unlike anyone I had ever met before.  God how I had longed for you after that first brief meeting, amazed when you showed up the next day to look at the flat with me.  And there were so many possibilities opening up in front of me, but all I could think about is how much it hurt to lose something and I was never going to risk that again, because no one ever stayed.  And then you managed so much in the first forty-eight hours of our meeting that I could see hope and it scared me so I kept the walls up.  At least I tried to, but you kept chipping them down slowly over the next year and a half and then Moriarty threatened your life and I had to give back what you had given me.  I had to save your life.  I just didn’t realise the impact of what it would do to me or how it would really effect you.

Believe it or not, I did understand why you were angry with me when I returned.  I was angry with myself for what I had done to you and I would have done whatever it took to make things right and somehow, things worked out and tonight we stood on the cusp of something new.  And it terrified me because I know it will only end with me hurting you.

Everything I touch John, I ruin or destroy and I almost managed that once with you.  If anything were to ever happen to you, I couldn’t live with myself, I wouldn’t be able to go on.  So when you brought up my birthday, it was a wake up call John.  The reminder I needed that this isn’t for me, that all I would do is hurt you.  And I imagined I hurt you by leaving Angelo’s like I did, without a word.

So I completely understand if you want to leave.  In fact, I am begging you to because I don’t deserve you.  I cannot give you what you need from a relationship, I wish it could be different, but I know it never will be.  I know it is something beyond my capability.  Please don’t be angry with me or yourself for that matter.  You wanted us to be open with each other and that’s what I’m trying to do now.  This is me saving your life once again John because if you stay with me, there is nothing but ruin ahead.  I hope you can understand that.

I’d rather have you alive and not in my life than you with me and in danger every moment you are by my side.

I’m sorry.  I know this doesn’t make any of this easier to hear or forgive the error I made in leading you on like I did, but I just need to let you know this is on me John, because I allowed myself to dream for a moment.

Please know that it has always and only ever been you John.

I love you.

~ Sherlock

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When John had finished the letter, he couldn’t believe what he’d just read.  He’d thought whatever was holding Sherlock back related to his time away, he’d never imagined that this stemmed back into his childhood.  God this explained so much.

But John wasn’t one to be deterred so easily, at least not when it came to Sherlock.  He had learned that he had messed up after Sherlock had returned and not allowed him the chance to explain, he had just pushed him away and now Sherlock was doing the same to him.  This was unacceptable.  He folded the letter back up and tucked it in the envelope and placed it on his nightstand.  He marched downstairs into the flat and found the Belstaff hanging on its hook which meant Sherlock was indeed there, and since he wasn’t on the sofa or at the kitchen table peering into his microscope, it meant the only place he could be was his bedroom.

John took a deep breath and walked down the hallway.  He didn’t bother to knock, he just opened the door because he was in no mood for excuses as to why he should just leave.

Sherlock lay on his bed, still dressed in the outfit from their evening out.  He was on top of the duvet, his arms crossed and fingers steepled under his chin.  He didn’t move, he didn’t acknowledge John’s presence.

John stood there tapping his foot.  “After everything, you expect me to accept that as a reason to let you go?  To give up and turn my back on you?  Sherlock, THIS is exactly what a relationship is.  Yea, they can hurt, it’s unavoidable but if you do it right, if you’re lucky to find someone you love you half as much as you love them or more, the hurt is outweighed by all the good you share.  And damn it we are due our fair share of good after all of the suffering we’ve endured.  And the fact that you chose to come home and write me a letter explaining everything instead of just disappearing tells me more than that letter ever could.”

Sherlock stayed silent.  Didn’t blink.  Didn’t move.

“You’re scared, I get it.  So am I, but I am more scared of you not being in my life than any danger I could ever face by your side.  And if I have to, I will spend every day showing you how much you mean to me and all the good we can have together, just please don’t throw this away because you think you’re better off alone, because you really aren’t and neither am I.”

Still no movement from Sherlock.  John looked at him and sighed exasperatedly.   He moved towards the bed now and sat on the edge.  He wanted to take a hold of Sherlock and shake some sense into him, instead he placed a hand on his cheek and turned his head so their eyes met even though Sherlock looked past him, over his shoulder at some point on the wall.

“I know you’ve heard every word I’ve said.  Please, I don’t want to leave.  Not like this.”

It was the please and the way John’s voice cracked that finally made Sherlock lock eyes with John.  He couldn’t ignore John any longer or any of his pleas and while John hadn’t gone on a long tirade like he was usually apt to do, what he said was more than enough.  It sunk in, all the way to Sherlock’s heart.

He knew John would never take something like this on if he harboured the slightest doubt of it not working. Maybe, just maybe this could really work after all.

He reached out and took John’s hand, laced their fingers together.

“I’m sorry.  Please forgive me.  For you I will try.  I can’t promise you much.  I can’t promise you anything really, but I will try.” Sherlock whispered.

“That’s all I ask Sherlock, that’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”  John said, relief flooding through his voice now.

He crawled up on the bed now and curled up next to Sherlock.  He reached up and brushed his fingers across Sherlock’s cheek.

“We’ll go slow and take our time, there’s no reason to rush any of this, not now that we’re together.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed John’s forehead.

“I’d like that very much John.  Just the two of us together against the rest of the world.”

John smiled and snuggled closer to Sherlock’s side.  A place that would no longer be empty now that they had each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this little story. Thanks for reading.


End file.
